


Wake Up

by Jenna_of_the_Red_Robes



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, gaby in a coma, gallya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenna_of_the_Red_Robes/pseuds/Jenna_of_the_Red_Robes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could not be calm. Not when Gaby lay prone on the bed beside him. Not when her heartbeat was so weak. Not when her skin was so pale. Not when it was all his fault. </p>
<p>Illya can't stop blaming himself as he regards a comatose Gaby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> My first angtsy Gallya fic, actually surprised that it took me this long to write one. 
> 
> Based on a tumblr request asking for an angsty Gallya fic, "one where she's captured and he can't get there in time but he sees her get really hurt, falls in coma and he sits vigil at her bedside". My tmfu blog is lil-chop-shop-girl.
> 
> Enjoy!

He should never have agreed to the plan. He should have been there. He should have been at her side. He should have been faster. 

These harsh admonishments raged through Illya’s worried mind. He mentally berated himself over and over, his dark thoughts matching the cadence of his rhythmically tapping finger. Finally, he could take the pressure no longer.

Illya punched the wall he was sitting next to before he could think clearly, his anger controlling his actions. The breaking of the wall rang loudly through the room, a fist-sized shape now embedded within it. It would have been painful, if the Russian could currently feel pain. Instead, he was numb to everything except his anger that was throbbing like a dangerous exposed wire. 

His nostrils flared as he tried to breathe deeply, to calm down. But it was impossible. He could not be composed. Not when Gaby lay prone on the bed beside him. Not when her heartbeat was so weak. Not when her skin was so pale. Not when it was all his fault. 

Illya felt the rage building within him again, furious at himself. He leaned forward and grabbed the bedsheets with a white-knuckled grip. 

The tall Russian sat in an uncomfortable chair at Gaby’s bedside. He waited rigidly beside his chop shop girl who was unconscious and hooked up to a multitude of sensors and monitors – tracking her vitals. She hadn’t moved for two days now. The doctor said it was a coma, that he didn’t know when or if she would wake up.

Illya hadn’t moved for two days either. He couldn’t bear to let her from his sight. So he lingered at her side, allowing nothing to interrupt his resolute vigil. 

He slowly loosened his vice-like grip on the fabric as he let out a long exhale. Illya slid his large hand across the smooth sheets, hesitantly reaching for Gaby’s limp one. He placed it delicately within his own, staring down at her. 

The German woman who was always so strong, so feisty, looked terrifyingly weak to Illya’s concerned eyes. He hated seeing her this way. Gaby was powerful, not fragile – she would pull through. She had to. 

He blinked slowly, the fateful events that occurred forty-eight hours ago flashing against his eyelids. 

Illya had been monitoring the operation from the van – listening in and observing with his binoculars. Things had been proceeding smoothly, perfectly. He should have known that something was wrong. He should have paid more attention to the dangerous edge in the target’s voice. He should have realized the man’s plan sooner. But he didn’t and now Gaby has to pay the price for his failure. 

He blinked again, his mind forcing him to relive the horrible moments. 

He saw the hidden assailants converge around her. One grabbed Gaby and she fought back valiantly. But there were too many, she couldn’t fight them all off. Illya was running to her, having abandoned the van. But he was too far away. He couldn’t reach her in time. He watched her fall after a sharp blow to the back of her neck – the world moved in slow motion as she crumbled to the ground. 

Then all Illya saw was red as he let his anger consume him. He unleashed his unadulterated rage upon the men who had dared to touch Gaby. Men that he killed without a second thought. Backup found Illya surrounded by the corpses as he cradled the German woman in his arms – who looked as pale as the dead herself. 

The Russian took another deep breath, trying to pull his mind back to the present and away from the memories that he knew would always plague him. 

He tightened his grip on Gaby’s hand as he stared at her closed eyes. She would wake up from this coma. She was a fighter, she would survive. 

“Please Gabriella.” His accent was thicker than usual, emotion and disuse prominently affecting his speech. “Wake up, my little chop shop girl.” 

Illya silently vowed that when she awoke, he would never leave her side. He would not fail her again.


End file.
